Gaston's Grand Adventure
by DerpFox
Summary: Please R&R! Gaston is given a great challenge: to find and seduce the men on the list given him by a mysterious stranger at a night club. Will he succeed? Probably, since after all there's no one in town half as manly. Modern AU, crossover with other Disney movies.
1. In which we learn our hero and his quest

The music was pounding, shaking the floor with its heavy bass, and threatening to deafen the men who flocked to the club, trading casual Friday polo shirts for body glitter and gym sneakers for lifts. Light beer from the can for grape vodka shots out of a stranger's navel. This was Gaston's scene and these were his people. He caught a glimpse of himself-black hair slicked back and spray tan impeccable-in the security mirror above the door as he entered, adjusting the low v of his red satin shirt as he scanned the room. A thick gold chain hung around his densely muscled neck, the dog tags swinging off of it and nestled in his luxurious chest hair were stamped with his own name.

"Now," he rubbed his hands together. "Let's get to work. Lefou!" Gaston spoke to his wingman without taking his eyes off the crowd. "Find me the hottest piece of ass in this establishment. It's the start of the weekend crowd so I should be able to land at least a 9 if not a 10. Nothing below a 6-this isn't Tuesday in..." Gaston finally glanced down at his side where Lefou should be standing, only to realize that he was flying solo. He heard a commotion at the door, barely audible over the music even though it was only a few feet behind him, and turned around to see Lefou detained by the burly bouncer and trying to snatch something out of his hand. Heaving a great melodramatic sigh, Gaston stomped over. Every time there was a new worker at the door they had to go through the same song and dance of convincing him Lefou wasn't trying to pass off a fake ID. He had thought about taking someone else with him to the clubs but it seemed that everyone he tried had some sort of problem that was even more troublesome to deal with. Flynn had already been banned from all the good clubs, Kocoum was still refusing to talk to him after Gaston had tried to explain why he should be sad that the French didn't get to Manhattan first, and Mowgi was right out.

"What was the matter this time?" Gaston asked as he marched Lefou past the bouncer. "No, don't tell me. You'll only bore me and I need to look fresh." He crouched down and slung an arm around Lefou's sloping shoulders. "Look around," he commanded, making a broad sweep of the room with his free hand, drawing Lefou's gaze to the gyrating and sweating bodies. "This is the peak of perfection! This is living!" He stood up so abruptly that he knocked Lefou to the floor and drew his clenched hands down over his face to his breast, breathing in deeply through flexed nostrils the scent of his own Drakkar Noir and then exhaling vigorously. "Lefou!"

"Yes, Gaston!" Lefou scrambled up from the ground.

"We've wasted enough time fooling around. Find me my conquest for the night."

"Sure thing, Gaston!" Lefou ran a hand through his hair to slick it back like the other man's, then rubbed off the excess hair gel on his fake leather pants. "Let's see... Oh, how about him, Gaston?" He pointed to a fair-skinned young man with dark hair and a bold coat of lipstick. "He seems nice. I like his blue hat."

Gaston scoffed. "Look at him. He's too cutesy. Doll-like. His name is probably something stupid like 'Florian.' I want a real man, someone worthy of the splendor that is me." He pounded his chest for emphasis.

"Gosh, Gaston, that might be difficult tonight." Lefou took another look around the club. From the bar across the dance floor to the restrooms it looked like the entire population was, upon closer inspection, not made up of the kind of men Gaston was interested in pursuing.

Gaston snorted in displeasure. "What's wrong with this place tonight? It's full of lady-men!" He turned on the heel of his boot to storm out and shoved the stranger nearest to him. To his dismay he found a thin cold hand wrap around his wrist and pull him back.

"Temper, temper," an equally chill voice whispered, somehow cutting through the still-deafening bass. It was almost as if the man spoke on another wavelength so far removed from the ordinary that he had no need at all to raise his voice to be heard. He was dressed his Gaston in red, although his shirt was open down to the navel and sporting luxurious parrot feather epaulettes. "I'm afraid you need to watch your words, Mr... Gaston, was it?" The man's grip tightened and Gaston felt an unfamiliar pang of fear in his chest as he tried to yank his arm away. "My name is Jafar and I've been listening to you. Sadly, you're not nearly as interesting as you seem to think you are."

"Then why were you listening?" Lefou piped up.

Both Gaston and Jafar shot him a dirty look and Lefou fell silent.

"Let go of me," Gaston demanded, scrabbling with his free hand at Jafar's long boney fingers. He was unable somehow to get a grip on any of them and felt a chill run down his back as the man leaned in to within an inch of his face and touched him lightly under the chin with another arachnid finger. His long twisted goatee tickled Gaston's Adam's apple.

"Shh. It's far too late for all that. But what say we make a bargain? I'm afraid I want to see you put your money where your mouth is and you, well, you want something you can hunt."

"That's right," Gaston began and stopped in confusion as the Jafar reached into his front pants pocket and produced as if by magic a small laminated card with his own name at the top and then after two skipped lines a list of names.

"Here you are." Jafar presented it to him, releasing his wrist so that Gaston could pat himself down, confused as to how it could have been on his person all along. "These men, I believe, will suffice."

"But why should I-"

"Why should you seek them out? For the thrill of the chase! And," his lips curled up in a thin smile, "because I'm putting a curse on your Cave of Wonders and I won't lift it until I see you dance."

Gaston gasped and recoiled in horror. A cloud of smoke billowed up, surrounding Jafar as he laughed maniacally and when it dissipated he was nowhere to be seen. In terror Gaston fled from the club, bowling over the assistant DJ as he tried to adjust the smoke machine and leaving Lefou behind in the chaos.

Outside Gaston flung himself panting against a street lamp, pulling a hand across his face. He had no idea what form the curse would take, but he didn't like any of the ideas his imagination came up with. Willing himself onward, he looked down at the plastic card in his hand. "Why should I be afraid of some dried up old spell-caster?" He asked himself, standing up away from the pole. "Besides, this must be some kind of joke! Punish me by making me seduce these weenies? Hah!" He spat on the ground in derision. "Child's play!"

Lefou came huffing up to Gaston and he waved him over.

"Good timing, Lefou. Here." He thrust the card into Lefou's pudgy hand. "Keep track of this. I am going to complete that loon's challenge or my nickname isn't le grand saucisson." Gaston folded his arms across his lush chest hair. "Now, Lefou," he demanded, "What is the first name on that list?"

Lefou scanned the card and gulped audibly. "Hercules."


	2. In which Gaston practices his trade

"Who the hell is Hercules," Gaston asked, picking his teeth in the tinted window of the nearest parked car. The moment of fear instilled in him by Jafar had passed and he was impatient to begin the game.

"You don't know him?" Lefou asked, shocked. "He starred in 'Hercules!'"

"His name is Hercules and he starred in a movie called 'Hercules.'"

"Yes! He played the title character."

Gaston frowned and wiped his fingers off on the car door. "What a tool. No matter, my next step is clear. I must find and seduce this Hercules."

"Great!" Lefou was already looking up the actor's home address on TMZ. "Oh, I can't wait, Gaston! Seeing the two of you in the same room together will be like a dream come true!"

Actually, it was rather crowded. The next day Gaston and Lefou took a cab across town to the apartment rented under Hercules' name. Security was minimal, with just one bored looking doorman and a young woman at the front desk reading the paper.

"I bet he's incognito," Lefou whispered giddily as Gaston found Hercules' name on the list of residents posted next to the elevator. "Ooh, or do you think these workers are really bodyguards in disguise?" The doorman popped his head in to tell the woman that he was going to go on a smoke break. Lefou squealed with barely contained delight.

"Come on." Gaston got in the elevator and the two of them rode up to the 18th floor, then exited into a narrow carpeted hall. He strode confidentially down towards the end, taking a mint aerosol breath spray out of his back pocket and giving himself a shot in the mouth. He ran a tongue over his teeth, beamed at his upside down reflection in the peephole, and pounded rapidly on the door.

The door opened to reveal a tall man with orange hair and possibly more muscle mass than Gaston. Lefou stopped rocking back and forth on his heels to give a muffled gasp around the hand stuffed in his mouth.

"Uh, sorry, I think you have the wrong door," Hercules began, but stopped abruptly when Gaston leaned over him, bracing himself against the doorframe. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, in fact you can," Gaston said with a flash of his professionally-whitened teeth. "Your name is Hercules, is it not?"

"Yes... Oh," Hercules smiled hopefully. "Are you fans?"

Gaston kicked Lefou to the side before he could interrupt. "Not at all." He smirked internally as the other man's face fell. Nice neg, Gaston, he complimented himself. "I had never heard of your failure of a movie until last night," he continued as he strode coincidentally into the apartment, leaving Lefou outside.

"But... If you never heard of it how do you know it was a failure?" Hercules asked, closing the door behind him.

Gaston scoffed. "Look at this place!" He waved his hand around him like he had in the club and knocked a lamp off a side table and a framed picture of Hercules' parents from the wall to the ground where they both shattered. "It's a dump! You're living in a tiny studio in a low end apartment and I can tell from just walking in here that your fridge has not worked for days!" He sniffed the air and grimaced.

Hercules had looked like he was angry over the destruction of his personal property, but quickly deflated as Gaston's observations hit home. "You're right," he admitted. "My career never went anywhere. I thought that movie would be my big break but that was it. The calls never really came in. I don't know," he shook his head sadly. "Sometimes I think I should get another agent, but Phil's been so good to me and I know I'm his last hope. It's just hard, you know? I travelled all the way to the city and I always told myself that I would go the distance, that I would do just anything to find where I belong."

Gaston crossed the room to stand next to him in one easy stride. He put his hand on his shoulder. "Stop acting like a pansy," he suggested," and spread your legs because I have a list to complete and I want to check at least two more of you off by tonight."

Hercules looked puzzled. "I don't know if this is some kind of joke or if Phil signed me up for a reality show or something…"

"Stop talking about Phil! Lefou showed me his picture and I've seen more than enough of that hairy little man to last a lifetime. I don't need to picture him while I plow you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Hercules backed up, his hands in the air and his back to the wall. "Look, I'm flattered, I guess, but I don't even know you."

Gaston scoffed. "I'm not here to woo you."

"I know, but wouldn't it be nice if we at least knew something about one another? I told you a little about me..."

"Oho," Gaston smirked, "I see how it is. You like what you see, do you?" He struck a pose, flexing his arms over his head.

"Uh..." Hercules shrugged awkwardly. "Sure. You seem like a nice enough guy."

Gaston threw himself down onto the couch and kicked his boots up onto the coffee table, resting them on a pile of tax paperwork and crossing his legs at the ankle. "I know." He spread his arms out across the top of the couch. "Have a seat and I'll humor you by telling you a little about my exploits."

Hercules sat next to him, carefully readjusting his towel to keep his lamb shank hidden from view.

"I have been voted most handsome in the Santa Monica Body Builders' Club for the past five years and am the reigning champion of the West Coast Competitive Eating Association, Egg Division." Gaston casually flexed a bicep and threw his other arm around Hercules' shoulders. "I also have a degree in cosmetology."

"Cosmetology? Like eyebrow waxes and such?"

"You could use some grooming. Body hair is appropriate only in certain places," Gaston said, pulling the collar of his shirt open to reveal a swath of coiled black hair.

Hercules winced and pulled away. "Oh, wow. That's, uh..."

Gaston was looking critically at Hercules' hair and eyebrows now. "You should really get some work done. I'll tell you what. I'll give you a one time discount before we do this. That mullet of yours is going to be too distracting. It might be business in the front but it's no party in the back and I want to look at something more appealing while we hump." He saw Hercules' look of concern and he switched to a suaver tone. "It'll make your headshots look more professional and less like they belong to an overgrown member of *Nsync."

Hercules' eyes lit up. "Do you really think so? That's not a bad idea. Maybe I need to remarket myself. All right. I've got some paper scissors. Will that do?"

"Sure," Gaston said as Hercules got up and hurried to take a pair out of the kitchen drawer. "It can't make it worse than it already is. Do you have a candle? I can give you a Bastille wax while we're at it."

"Right." Hercules came back with the supplies and a bowl of water and took a seat on the ground in front of the couch. Gaston moved over so he had one leg on either side of him and took the scissors.

"Put your towel over your shoulders."

Hercules hesitated. "I'm not wearing anything under it."

Gaston scoffed. "I see a better baguette in the mirror every day. I need the towel to put over your shoulders or your hair will get everywhere. Do you even own a vacuum? For that matter, if you have another clean towel feel free to use that but frankly," he cast a disparaging glance around the apartment, "I doubt it."

He sighed. "Fine." He slowly pulled the towel off of his Pillar of Hercules and handed it over. Gaston arranged it over his shoulders and got to work.

"Maybe we should do your chest too," Gaston said. "Your nipples look sort of swirly."

Hercules glanced down as one of Gaston's hands trailed across his chest and traced out a tight spiral.

"Uh, maybe later," Hercules said as Gaston leaned back to inspect his handiwork.

"There." He brushed off the back of his neck. "Now lie down on your back and I'll do the wax." He stood up, letting Hercules lie on the sofa, and lit the candle, waiting for enough wax to collect for the procedure. Gaston glanced idly down at the other man and smirked a little to himself. Hercules certainly had the physique of a Greek statue, complete with small penis.

Hercules followed Gaston's gaze. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Gaston said, patting his thigh. "Nothing at all. Ah," he lifted up the candle, tipping it from side to side to watch the melted wax. "This should be enough."

"So what is a Bastille wax, anyway?" Hercules asked. "Is it like a Brazilian?"

Gaston scoffed. "Why would you get a wax from the same people who invented shantytowns and the Brazilian blowout?"

"I'm pretty sure they didn't-"

"It's done with formaldehyde and banned in Canada and the European Union! And you want to trust your genitals with that?" Gaston rolled his eyes. "Please. Have some self respect."

"Wait, I thought we were talking about waxes..."

Gaston shushed Hercules with a wave of his hand. "Don't distract an artist at work." No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was interrupted again by a muffled bar of Blurred Lines coming from the gold iPhone in his back pocket. "Text message," he started to explain as he pulled it out and then almost dropped it in shock. On his screen was a message from Jafar.

"I do hope you did not misunderstand me earlier. I cursed your Cave of Wonders and so your Cave of Wonders you will have to use in order for the spell to be lifted. I'll be keeping in touch.

Open Sesame~

Jafar"

"What's the matter?" Hercules asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

Gaston glared at his phone before turning back to the other man. "Change of plans. We'll do the wax after."

Outside the apartment, Lefou had grown tired of waiting with his ear pressed eagerly to the door and had hurried across the street to hopefully catch a glimpse of the action through the window or at least make progress on his game of Urban Birdwatchers' Bingo. He was just debating cheating and crossing off the square for the rose-breasted grosbeak, when his attention was caught by a loud thud and some non-avian movement from above. Looking up he saw Gaston pressed up against the small shaking window and he could just barely make out Hercules' ginger hair behind his broad shoulders. Lefou gave an excited squeal at the same moment that the window popped out of its frame and fell fortuitously onto the fire escape. He raced back inside to wait at the door for his friend's victorious exit, ready to give him his customary celebratory high five.

He had to wait rather longer than usual. Typically if Lefou were to raise his hand to scratch his head he would still have it up in the air by the time Gaston and his partner for the night exited their chosen bathroom stall. About an hour passed, however, before the apartment door opened and Gaston strode out.

"Put some ice on it if the swelling doesn't go down," he was saying as he handed Hercules back his candle. "And don't worry about the redness. That's natural. Ah, Lefou," he said, putting his hand out down low to accept his congratulations. "What is the next name on that list?"

Lefou scrambled to pull the card out of his pocket. "Shang Li," he read. "I don't know that one."

"Oh, Shang," Hercules said from the doorway, holding his towel around his waist rather more gingerly than before. "He's my trainer at the gym. Hang on, I'll get you his card." He vanished back inside his apartment, leaving the other two to marvel at their good luck. "Here." Hercules reemerged and handed Gaston an off-white business card with the address and number of the gym in black print below the words: "Shang Li: Let's Get Down to Business to Defeat Your Buns."

Gaston read the card, distantly hearing Hercules say that Shang would make a man out of him. A slow smirk spread across his face as he turned to leave. If everyone else was so easy to find and convince then he would have that curse lifted in time to hit the club on Friday, find Jafar, and show him that there was no challenge too great for Gaston.


	3. In which the hero encounters a setback

"Konichiwa!" Gaston announced loudly as he threw open the gym doors, startling the receptionist at the front desk into spilling his coffee and causing patrons and staff alike to give him annoyed glances.

"I-am-Gaston," he continued, enunciating each syllable distinctly and continuing to speak at a louder volume than normal as he took a step towards the nearest trainer, a young athletic-looking Asian man wearing a gray shirt with the gym's name across the chest and with his shoulder-length hair pulled back. "And-I-am-here-"

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" Gaston asked in a normal voice.

"You heard me," Shang said, picking up a placard off the receptionist's desk and holding it out in front of him. "We reserve the right to refuse service, and you are being disruptive and disrespectful. Get out or I'm calling the cops." He turned away from Gaston with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Now just wait a moment," Gaston began, angrily stepping forward.

Shang motioned to a massive bald man in a navy security uniform already walking towards them from his station in the parking lot. Before Gaston could protest further he was being picked up with his arms pinned down to his sides.

"Thank you, Chien Po. Get him out of here."

"Sorry," the guard politely told Gaston as he turned him around and deposited him back outside.


	4. In which a regal purchase is made

Gaston was startled to be backed up and out onto the stairs, the door slammed in his face.

"What happened?" Lefou asked.

Gaston scowled. "Change of plans," he snapped. "We'll come back to him later."

Lefou nodded. "I already looked up the next guy. His Facebook says he works just a block from here at a store called 'Bears N Things.'"

"'Bears N Things?' Is that some kind of taxidermy shop?" Gaston asked, snatching Lefou's phone from him to look at the address and the next man's profile picture. Unfortunately it was just a photograph of a squirrel wearing a scouting hat. Shoving Lefou's cell back at him, he set off at a fast pace for the shop, still seething over his treatment in the gym and eager to put another notch in his belt to soothe his pride.

"Do you have a plan, Gaston?" Lefou asked once he managed to catch up.

"I don't need a plan," Gaston replied. He shoved through a crowd of teenage girls window shopping, leaving LEfou to get caught in their bags and trailing scarves. "Who does he think he is?" He continued without noticing Lefou's difficulty. "That guy has tangled with the wrong man."

"Darn right!" Lefou piped up, tripping into the gutter.

"No one says no to Gaston! Dismissed. Rejected. Publicly humiliated. Why, it's more than I can bear!"

Lefou laughed. "Good pun, Gaston!"

"Shut up," Gaston snapped, opening the tinted glass door to 'Bears N Things' with such force that the bell tied to the inside handle flew off its string and skidded across the laminate floor.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hot stuff," the skinny man with shoulder-length black hair behind the counter said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "We don't 'do' returns." He made finger quotes in the air. "It says right there on the receipt. No one's gonna want to buy something you had a trial run with."

Gaston ignored him, slamming his hands onto the counter. "Are you Kronk?"

The other man laughed. "Me? Oh thank God no."

"Then get him for me," Gaston said through gritted teeth.

"Uh, sorry, no can do." He pointed to the clock on the wall. "My shift hasn't started yet." He gave a fake smile. "Come back in four minutes."

Gaston stood up straight, turning red with rage as the clerk leaned back in his swivel chair and began pointedly thumbing through a copy of People magazine.

"Hey Gaston," Lefou whispered, tugging at the hem of his shift. "I don't think this is a taxidermy store."

Gaston took a look around for the first time and was momentarily distracted from his troubles by the mind boggling array of phallic items and PVC garments.

"What the hell?" He said, bending over the nearest glass case for a better look.

"Uh, excuse me, hi. Could you not?" The clerk was watching them over the top of his magazine. "I just cleaned that."

"I thought you weren't working yet," Gaston said with annoyance.

"Come on, Gaston," Lefou said. "Retail is harder than it looks. He deserved not to be bothered when he isn't on the clock."

At that point the door to the back of the store opened and a much more athletic man stepped out.

"Sorry about that, Kuzco. Thanks for watching the front while I dealt with that spill. Who knew warming lubricant would melt all those edible pasties." He ended on a sombre note with a shake of his head.

"Kronk, you idiot," Kuzco said with a roll of his eyes. "That was rubbing alcohol. That witch always orders the wrong inventory."

"Kuzco," Kronk admonished, "You shouldn't call her that. She's a nice lady, even if she can be a little eccentric."

"She's creepy." Kuzco argued back. "Plus, she's like a thousand years old and I'm pretty sure I saw her hitting on Yzma and you know what they say about birds of a feather."

"Where?" Kronk spun around to look through the tinted glass windows and door. "I'm just two away from Bingo."

"Do you play Urban Birdwatchers' Bingo too?" Lefou asked with excitement.

"Of course! I have the expansion pack."

"Excuse me," Gaston said, stepping in front of Lefou. "As much as I hate to cut in, I was looking for you, Kronk."

Kronk looked confused. "You were? Have we met before?"

"No," Gaston began, but was cut off by his phone once more alerting him to a text message.

Kuzco scoffed. "Robin Thicke, really? That's so summer '13. Way to remain timeless."

Gaston shot him a glare before turning his attention to the phone. Yet again it was a text from Jafar.

"You will have to do better than that if you want to woo 'General Li.'

I have my eye on you.

Open Sesame~

Jafar"

"So, if you don't know me, what did you want to see me for?"

"Be quiet," Gaston snapped, furiously typing back to Jafar. "I need to tell him that I'm moving past that little setback."

"Do you really have the expansion?" Lefou asked Kronk. "Can I see it?"

"Sure! Anything for a fellow birder!"

Kuzco groaned and slid his head down into his arms folded on the counter as Kronk pulled his neatly folded bingo card out of his back pocket.

"See? This version comes with chukar partridge stickers to mark your sightings."

Lefou took it from him. "Wow! I can't believe you managed to find a red-naped sapsucker!"

"I know." Kronk smiled proudly. "I spent a whole week on a stakeout waiting for her to appear."

"Enough of that!" Gaston said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Kronk, you and I are going to fuck."

"What?!" Kuzco snapped his head back up. "You want to do what? Uh, I'm pretty sure stupid is an STI."

"But you're a customer and I'm on shift," Kronk began. "It would be morally questionable and against the 'Bears N Things' employee code of conduct." He held up a copy of the small spiral bound handbook, turned to the relevant page. "I'm in the running for employee of the month and I don't want to jeopardize it." He motioned towards the back wall where his picture was hung announcing him employee of the month repeatedly from the floor to the ceiling. "I'm on a twenty-nine month streak, so this next one is kind of important."

Kuzco rolled his eyes. "On second thought, have your way with him."

Kronk gasped. "I knew it! You're trying to take my spot!'

Gaston's phone went off again and he took it back out to look at.

"Perhaps you should be more respectful when interacting with Shang Li. That rough attitude of yours will get you nowhere.

Open sesame~

Jafar"

"I already told you, I'm speaking to Kronk now," Gaston muttered as he texted back. The message had barely been sent when another appeared.

"Apolo443p"

Gaston stared at it in bewilderment and put it down on the counter. "Look," he began, "I am a patient man. I am willing to come back when you are done working today if that will make things easier."

"Well..." Kronk considered this, then suddenly turned to look at his right shoulder. "Yeah, but it's still a gray area. Well, it's following the letter of the law but not the spirit of it." He nodded, focusing seriously, then turned to his left. "Like a demonstration?"

Gaston leaned down slowly to whisper at Kuzco. "What the hell is he doing?"

Kuzco whispered back, "He talks to his guns."

A new text message appeared.

"Apologies. It takes a while to compose messages in T9.

Jafar"

Gaston muted his cell.

"Well?" He looked at Kronk. The other man had his hand thoughtfully to his chin and was nodding along to an argument made by his left shoulder.

"He's not going to answer." Kuzco rolled out on his office chair from behind the counter. "Why don't you buy something for your little 'rendezvous' and you can have him as your free gift with purchase?"

"Is that legal?" Lefou asked.

Kuzco pretended to consider this for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. "Hm... No but I don't care. I'm on commission, so make a sizable purchase or get out."

"I don't need any of this filth," Gaston said as he gestured from a series of horsetail butt plugs to a PVC onesie with the nipples cut out.

"Well aren't you just precious, with your deep-v and your cute little hang ups about human sexuality," Kuzco cooed. "Give me a break. I know your type. You're like the Barney Stinson of cheap bathroom sex. I bet you make tally marks on the toilet paper dispenser and you gave your dick some lame nickname in an attempt to make it seem more impressive."

Gaston huffed. "Le grand saucisson is an entirely accurate title!"

Kuzco rolled his eyes. "Sure. And I wear the same size scout uniform as Kronk."

The door opened before Gaston could think of a retort and Kuzco's tone immediately became more cordial.

"Hey Patcha! How's the wife? I got your order in-"

"Uh, thanks." The middle-aged man hurried past Gaston and Lefou, shielding his face from them with one hand. He shoved his credit card at Kuzco. "Just charge it. I'll come back to pick it up after work."

"Sure thing." Kuzco handed him back his card and receipt and Patcha left without making eye contact with the others. "See?" Kuzco said. "No shame."

Gaston scoffed. "Are you kidding me? No one would want to be caught dead with any of these contraptions!"

"Actually," Kuzco licked his thumb and flipped through his magazine, turning it around to show Gaston an interview with a celebrity in an expensive looking gray suit. "Recognize this guy? That's right, Prince Naveen purchases from our European branch. Booyah, loser! He bought a leather cage for his junk because he's a classy guy."

Gaston took the article from him, reading it aloud.

"'In fact, I actually own several sexual implements. My favorite store is 'Bears N Things...'" Gaston put the magazine down. "You didn't make that up. He actually said that." He cast a look around the store, reevaluating its contents. "I suppose I would be able to find something suitable..."

"Great!" Kuzco stood up and walked over to stand in the center of the floor. "Don't worry, you're in excellent hands. I'll find you something to try with your two-bit bimbo for the evening." He slapped Gaston on the back and motioned for him to follow him to a locked glass cabinet. "This, my friend, is the most distinguished gentleman's plug in the world."

Gaston and Lefou watched as Kuzco unlocked the cabinet and took out a black box, opening its hinged lid to reveal, nestled among thick velvet, what looked like a golden apple banana with a thick ring at its narrower end next to a set of matching cuff links.

"The Earl by Lelo!" Kuzco announced proudly, snatching it away when Lefou reached out to touch it. "Ah ah ah! No touchie!" He slammed the box shut.

"It is quite handsome," Gaston admitted as Lefou stepped back and Kuzco slowly cracked the box open again so he could take a second look. "All right, I'll take it. For the sake of this quest, of course."

Kuzco smiled. "That will be $2590. Plus tax."

"What?!"

"The stainless steel version is $1590," Kuzco explained, "but it lacks that regal air. I mean, you could get it, but who wants to be second best? Don't worry, it comes with a one year company warranty."

Gaston gritted his teeth and pulled out his wallet. "Fine."

"You won't regret it," Kuzco said as he took Gaston's card and the plug up to the register. "Trust me, you'll feel like the goddamn Emperor of Peru with this thing."

"All right," Kronk announced abruptly. "I've decided. We can totally do it. You just have to let me finish my shift first. That's the responsible thing to do."

"Why don't you just take your break now and bang him in the back alley," Kuzco suggested as he handed Gaston his receipt to sign. "You can smoke out there and this can't be any worse for you."

"Oh, I don't smoke," Kronk said holding an acorn up above his head. "Squirrel Scout Leader's honor. I have to set a good example for the young sciuridae."

Gaston sincerely hoped that Kuzco was wrong and that stupidity was not transmitted sexually.

Kuzco handed Gaston back his items. "I didn't bother bagging it," he said, then looked at the clock. "All right, you boys have fifteen minutes starting now. If you're late I'm writing up an incidence report."

"Come on," Kronk pulled Gaston towards the door. "I'm a very gentle and efficient lover."

The last thing Gaston saw as he left the shop was Kuzco pretending to vomit into the cash register.


	5. Concerning many things of interest

Kuzco and Lefou were arguing when Gaston and Kronk walked back into the store precisely 14 minutes later.

"Look, I don't care what your," Kuzco made wildly judgmental air quotes around the word, "'Friend' says. I'm a professional and, trust me, that's definitely unsanitary." He looked up at the clock. "Congratulations, boys. So how does this work, do you win some sort of manslut Oscar?"

"Not yet," Gaston said as he gestured to Lefou with a flourish. "Lefou! What is the next name on the card."

"John Ratcliffe," Lefou read out loud.

Gaston's immaculately maintained eyebrows shot up towards his equally well-groomed hairline. "THE John Ratcliffe? The radio host of Ratcliffe's Virginia Boys?"

Kuzco made a face. "That loser? I guess he'll be easy. You know he's got a lot of repressed sexual tension bottled up in there. I say show up naked and wrapped up in a 'Don't Tread On Me' flag and you'll be good to go."

"Blasphemy," Gaston snapped. "That man is a genius and an icon of good taste. I'll have to look my very best to seduce him. Perhaps those cuff links might come in handy," he mused. "We can go back to my apartment so I can put on my finest suit, then perhaps allons-y to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of fine brandy. Yes," he continued to talk to himself as he headed back out the door, Lefou tailing him. "This night will go down in history as one of the greatest seductions of all time!"

Lefou flagged down a passing cab for the two of them while Gaston paced up and down the sidewalk, chiseled chin in his hand while he plotted the rendezvous. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was barely aware of the city flashing by as they drove towards his building.

"Lefou," he finally said, turning to where the other man sat next to him fiddling with his cell. "Turn off that damned Tsum Tsum and help me."

Lefou quickly shoved his phone in his pocket. "What can I help you with, Gaston?"

"Which do you think would make the better impression. Calling into Ratcliffe's show to ease him into my seduction, or just surprising him at the radio station at nine when he gets off?"

"Well, Gaston, I think—"

"You're right," Gaston smirked and folded his arms across his chest. "I should call in. Why should I deprive him of me any longer than I already have?"

He got out of the cab when it arrived at its destination, leaving Lefou to pay the bill, and marched through the doors to his building. He crossed the marble floor and briefly inspected his reflection in the mirrors along the walls by the elevators, leaning in and sliding a finger along his eyebrow to ensure that every hair was trimmed to its correct length. He rode the elevator with Lefou up to his floor, pulled his keys out of his pocket as he headed towards his apartment, and let them in.

"Ah," he exhaled, his massive chest heaving. "Home in time to get ready at a leisurely pace." He collapsed onto his leather armchair, kicking his legs up over the fur throw on one of the arms. "Lefou, fetch me the remote." He leaned back to admire the colossal rack of antlers he had hung up above the chair, framing it in the center of the living room. Other hunting trophies were placed around it on the wall, creating a pleasing montage for the eye of deceased fowl and game. "You know," he continued taking the remote from Lefou and switching the widescreen TV on to ESPN. "I was thinking that I should go on another hunting trip soon. Perhaps somewhere with more sun this time. Does Bermuda have any large game?" He took a swig from the Sam Adams left between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair, then tossed the empty bottle to Lefou. "Kitchen."

As Lefou hurried off to take care of it, Gaston yawned and somewhat reluctantly got up, leaving the television on for background noise while he got ready. "I'm going to wash that dunce off of me," he announced, picking up the box with the Earl in it and heading for the bathroom.

Gaston stripped off his clothes and dropped them on the black marble tiles he had put in specifically to match the black porcelain fixtures of the room. "Laundry!" He shouted. He took a moment to admire his physique in the floor-length mirror across from the shower, turning in a slow circle and craning his neck back to look at himself for as long as possible. Satisfied, he got into the shower, yelling to Lefou outside. "Lefou! Take my suit out of my closet and make sure it's properly pressed. And go shine my shoes while you are at it!"

By the time Gaston got out of the shower his clothes and shoes were waiting for him and Lefou had gathered his old garments off the bathroom floor and was running a load of laundry. Gaston grimaced and turned the volume up on the television to drown out the sound of the machine.

As he dressed he thought smugly about his success so far. Two out of three was an excellent success rate, just as high as his odds when performing the Naked Man and stripping down in his dates' living rooms when they turned their back in order to win them over with shock and awe. Mostly awe, of course, he corrected himself as he buttoned his white dress shirt over his broad chest.

"Lefou," Gaston called, snapping his fingers. He put out his arms and squatted down as he stepped into his shoes so that Lefou could put his jacket on him. He stood back up, attaching his new gold cufflinks with a flourish. "There! How do I look?"

"Wow, Gaston! You sure look swell," Lefou fawned as Gaston turned in a tight circle so he could see him from all sides.

"I know." Gaston smirked. "Now, Lefou, I think it is time that I make a call." He picked up his cell and punched in his Touch ID: E-G-G-S. He shushed Lefou preemptively and turned his back on him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't disturb me," he warned as he snatched Lefou's phone from him and clicked over to the streaming radio station app, setting it to DSNY95 and turning the volume up high.

After a moment of buffering, Ratcliffe's haughty voice began to issue forth from the phone, cutting through the noise of the football announcers on the television.

"—What can you expect from filthy little heathens? Here's what you get when races are diverse!"

"What a man!" Gaston exclaimed as he dialed into the show, turning on his heel and striding across the room as he tossed Lefou back his cell. Lefou caught it and hurried after him, holding it aloft so that Ratcliffe's words would be clearly audible.

"Welcome to Virginia Boys, Wiggins speaking." An effeminate voice on the other end of the line picked up. "How may I be of service?"

"I want to speak to John Ratcliffe," Gaston announced.

"I'm sorry, he's not taking calls at the moment," Wiggins said. "If you would like to be an on-air guest for his next segment, 'Free Market Economy and the Development of Natural Resources: Mine, Mine, Mine!' I can put you on hold. It will be about another twenty minutes before it starts, but you're the first caller so you'll be at the head of the queue."

Gaston glowered at the phone. He had not foreseen having to wait and was impatient. "Very well. I'll stay on the line."

"Please hold," Wiggins said cheerfully. Flutes and drums began to play, along with the accompanying vocals of "Hey nonny nonny, ho nonny nonny," that sounded like Wiggins had recorded himself.

"What now, Gaston?" Lefou asked as Ratcliffe continued to rail against interracial marriage and affirmative action.

Gaston had grabbed the box holding his trusty earl and was already heading for the front door. He headed straight out of his apartment, leaving Lefou to quickly shut off the television, and then down to the street to flag a cab.

"DNSY Radio Station," he snapped to the driver as he and Lefou climbed in.

"Gosh, Gaston," Lefou said in a loud whisper. "What are you going to do?"

Gaston lowered his voice as well, keeping their conversation private from their driver. "Don't worry, Lefou. I am confident that I will be able to woo Ratcliffe and cross his name off my list tonight. I'll simply—Wait!" He shouted to the driver. "Stop, pull over here. I need to run in and buy something. Lefou will wait in the car with my things." He jumped out of the cab as soon as it slowed to a halt and dashed into the liquor store at the corner. He was back a minute later with a bottle of Bourbon in a brown paper bag. "Right. Carry on."

Lefou took the bottle out to look at it. "I thought you were going to get something really expensive," he said, holding the receipt in his other hand. "This was less than $20 including tax."

Gaston glowered, snatching back both the bottle and the receipt. "My little purchase earlier today set me back some. My card got declined."

"That's Kirkland brand," Lefou continued, oblivious to the other's embarrassment. "Are they even allowed to resell that?"

"I can't believe I spent all that money on that idiot Kronk," Gaston muttered to himself, crossing his legs and slamming his chin into his hand. "What was I thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He glared up at the quietly judging gaze of the cab driver in the mirror. "What are you looking at?" The driver shrugged silently and Gaston turned back to Lefou to continue speaking in a whisper. "It doesn't matter. My rock hard abs and muscular pecs will more than make up for this lack. He'll be like putty between my fingers, moist and warm."

The cab driver shook his head in disapproval as they sped through a yellow.

"Hello? Are you still on the line?" Wiggins' voice piped up through Gaston's phone.

"Oui," Gaston slammed it to his ear, answering quickly. "I'm here."

"Very good!" Wiggins chirped. "The next segment is scheduled to start after this upcoming commercial break, so be prepared to go live. Mr. Ratcliffe will speak for a minute or two and then I'll be patching you through for the question and answer session."

"Wonderful," Gaston said as the polished granite office building housing the radio station came into view. "I look forward to it immensely."

The line cut back to the hey-nonny-nonnies and Lefou's phone switched from Ratcliffe's talk show to an obnoxious commercial for McQueen's car dealership.

"This is it, let us out here," Gaston said, reaching for the door handle as Lefou unbuckled his seatbelt. The cab came to a stop and Gaston hopped out, leaving Lefou to pay as always. He strode immediately towards the automatic doors, smirking when they opened for him. It was always nice to be acknowledged as beautiful. The doors closed behind him and Lefou walked into them with a squeak. Unable to hear the radio program anymore as he walked down the hall of the building, his first clue that the commercials had ended was Ratcliffe's voice on the line.

"—caller today. Good evening, what is your name?"

"Call me Gaston," Gaston said in his most dulcet tones, taking a collapsible comb out of his back pocket and running it through his hair as he followed the signs for the broadcasting station on the second floor.

"Good of you to call in, Gaston. Now, as I was saying, the problem with America these days is a lack of responsibility for the national deficit. If we want to see any real and permanent change we have to start by getting rid of those lazy segments of the—"

"I'm a big fan," Gaston interjected in something like a purr.

"Well, I'm always glad to hear that," Ratcliffe said without missing a beat and sliding right back into his previous sentence. "As I was saying, we need to deal with any members of society too stupid to understand basic capitalist economics. As I outlined in my book, 'Mine, Mine, Mine,' which we have been talking about today, if only those ungrateful freeloading natives would develop the land we have been kind enough to donate to them, the gold of Cortez and the jewels of Pizarro will seem like mere trinkets by this time tomorrow."

"I agree," Gaston said. "You have such a powerful way with words."

"Thank you," Ratcliffe said smugly. "It's all for my fans."

"If you are so good with your mouth you must be equally skilled with your penis."

There was a brief moment of silence, then the line cut back to Hey-nonny-nonny Ho-nonny-nonny. Gaston was approaching a door with a large embossed sign on the wall next to it reading "DSNY 95 STATION." It was unlocked and when he opened it he could hear Ratcliffe arguing over an intercom system with Wiggins, seated behind the front desk.

"I don't care what you think," Ratcliffe was saying loudly. "Put him back on! I'm sick and tired of these pathetic liberal pranksters and I want to eviscerate him on air! I told you already not to drop the call of the next idiot who came on air to mock me!" He groaned, and added as if to himself but certainly loudly enough for Wiggins to still hear, "And he came so highly recommended. That's the last time I'm using that damned second-rate hiring agency."

"I would do as he says," Gaston interrupted, leaning on the desk and flashing Wiggins a stunningly white smile. "Put me back on air. I don't believe we were done with our little conversation."

With a push of a button, Gaston found himself reconnected to the radio program.

"It is pathetic laze-abouts like you, who—" Ratcliff was beginning to say when Gaston cut him off.

"Mine is quite nice," Gaston announced, snatching a pen off the desk and twirling it between his fingers. "Long. Straight. Personally, I like to compare it to a baguette, I think that gives a nice mental image of its dimensions and desirability."

"Ha! Do you think you're going to get a rise out of me, you feeble-minded cretin?"

"Why yes." Gaston wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Wiggins (making him very uncomfortable) since the talk show host was not in the room with him. "I hope to do just that. I know you get a rise out of me many nights. I've left you on for inspiration in the background while I humped—," he thrust his hips forward, "—my way to liberté." He walked over to the door at the other end of the waiting room, looking through its small window at the talk show host sitting in his swivel chair with his back to him, his bulky form hunched angrily over his microphone. "I see you now, your muscled back rippling with desire and barely-contained rage. My voice is sending rivers of pleasure and hate up your spine. You want to wrap your tongue around mine like two bears in heat." Gaston tapped on the window.

Ratcliffe spun around in his chair at the sound, one narrow eyebrow arching up like a cat as he gave him a considering once over. Gaston lifted up the bottle of cheap liquor. "What filthy swill!" Ratcliffe motioned curtly for Gaston to come into the room and close the door behind him. Gaston did so with a smug smile, strutting straight in with his chest puffed out.

"You call—Hey!"

Ratcliffe had taken the bottle from him and dumped it unceremoniously in the trash. "I am shocked and appalled by the rubbish coming from your mouth. My dear boy," he leaned forward, making intense eye contact with Gaston. "It is apparent to me that you need to be reeducated."

He reached down without looking away and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Diva Vodka. Gaston gasped, the sound audible on-air, shocked by the glistening chamber of diamonds that ran like a straw vertically through the bottle. Ratcliffe took out a double shot glass and poured the vodka into it. Gaston felt himself go weak at the knees as the alcohol filtered its way through the diamonds, glistening and absorbing their perfect essence. He grabbed onto the side of the desk for support.

"Let us have a little rational discussion," Ratcliffe continued, taking a sip and then holding the glass so that Gaston could drink from his hand. "And afterwards we shall see how well-improved your manners are."

Gaston made an inelegant noise as Ratcliffe kneaded his dough.


	6. A brief pastoral interlude

An Interlude:

"You know, Robin," Little John mused in a lazy voice almost at a drawl, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and stretching his feet out along the branch he was sitting on. "I bet that somewhere someone's writing a story about some jerk like Gaston, but since it's the holiday season and all, their last chapter didn't have the same amount of thought and effort put into it as the previous ones. Except what are you going to do?" He looked over at Robin Hood. "Totally revise it? Nah, cause then by the time you get it out, it's been so long between chapters," he held his paws up and drew them wide apart, "that no one is even reading anymore. You just gotta release it as soon as you get to where you initially wanted to end it, even if that place no longer really makes sense and the story has gone all over the place with all kinds of weird detours. You know?"

Robin Hood shook his head in bewilderment. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Little John. Who on earth is Gaston?"


	7. In which the plot progresses

We left our hero confronting his next metaphorical dragon, a veritable Saint George in the cave of the uncertainty with only his wits to show him the way to Providence. While still in the flower of his manhood, he was bent under the burden of credit card debt and lingering frustration from failing at his second task. Verily, our humble and worthy hero found himself like a modern day Job, suffering for the sake of a larger game and bound to weather the blows of cruel fate in order to eventually be judged worthy of title and renown. O unkind Fortuna! How your wheel turns, dragging even the brightest stars down until the putrid depths and reversing the lots of those noble souls who least deserve it! How few days ago was Gaston the veritable Lord of the Club Scene and yet now She abused him, causing him to lose not only his dignity but also one thousand five hundred and ninety dollars of his hard-won money, plus tax! As in the Morte d'Arthur, "fortune is so variant, and the wheel so movable, there is no constant abiding,"(Malory and Caxton 466) so in the Petite Morte de Gaston, the quality and willingness of dicks to penetrate his Cave of Wonders was always in flux. Amen.

To regular listeners, the following talk-show segment was, for the most part, rather standard. Ratcliffe quizzed his heckler about his stances on issues ranging from China's growing GDP to the amount of gold tied up in Native American casinos. Gaston grew increasingly unintelligible and Ratcliffe took on a more and more aggressive and confident tone as the climax approached. Just when it seemed that he was going to push Gaston over the edge and force him to admit defeat, Wiggins patched through a Mr. Smith.

"Yes?" Ratcliffe snapped, slapping Gaston across the back of his head and pushing his face down into the carpet when he tried to get out from under him. "What is it?"

"Well, I think you've got it all wrong," the caller said. Gaston and Ratcliffe shot each other a confused look. The voice sounded oddly familiar. Was this a celebrity calling in? "For one thing, the natives were here first and so they have a right to this land. Furthermore, they know things about it that we never will. They're stewards of the—"

"Mel Gibson?" Gaston asked. Ratcliffe nodded.

"What? No, my name's John. John Smith," the caller said.

"It's Mel Gibson," Gaston mouthed at Ratcliffe. Ratcliffe motioned for him to be quiet and leaned on his back, delicately picking up the glass of vodka and sipping at it.

"Mr… 'Smith,' was it?" Ratcliffe said in dulcet tones, "I know this fantasy of yours of the noble savage is appealing and it certainly gives you an easy villain to blame, but humans have always made the most of their natural resources. You don't think they waited for trees to fall on their own before they used their lumber, do you?"

"There's a difference between sustainable logging and fracking—"

"Watch your language," Gaston grunted as Ratcliffe poured the vodka down his back and licked it up with his hot and fleshy tongue. "This is a civilized program!"

"No, fracking is—"

"Please, be quiet." Ratcliffe interjected. "Men are talking. Good day, Smith." He flipped a switch on his control panel, cutting the line.

When Gaston exited the radio station at the end of the program, several health and ethics codes had been violated but for the most part the good listeners as well as the executives at DSNY were none the wiser. He found Lefou waiting for him outside of the building, ready to give him his high five just in time for Jafar's text message to appear on his screen.

"I caught your saucy duet with John Ratcliffe tonight. Congratulations, you managed to make my beard curl. I look forward to hearing of your next exploit.

Open Sesame~

Jafar"

"Hah!" Gaston smirked as he flashed Lefou the message. "Now that was an encounter for the record book. Pity you weren't there to take video, but I did manage to capture this fine selfie." He showed Lefou the picture, his smile as winning as ever even with Ratcliffe's timber lodged firmly in his mineshaft. "Stunning, isn't it? I think I'll make it my new profile picture."

"Ooh," Lefou squealed as he saw it appear in real time on his Facebook app. "Like!"

Gaston slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Well? Who shall be my next conquest?"

"Oh, this next one will be easy for you, Gaston! You're already on good terms with him!"

"Really? Who is it?" Gaston asked.

Lefou paused to "share" Gaston's picture before he answered. "Flynn Rider!"

Works Cited

Malory, Sir Thomas, and William Caxton. Le Morte d'Arthur: Sir Thomas Malory's Book of King Arthur and of His Noble Knights of the Round Table. Ed. Alfred William Pollard. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1903.


End file.
